


Rondeau

by luvkurai



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Hannibal is extra creepy, M/M, Microphilia, Prostate Massage, Science isn't even a real thing, What is logic, pocket!Will
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 07:35:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvkurai/pseuds/luvkurai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a moment longer, Hannibal is concerned by how this is possible, how Will could fit in the pot, before his tired mind finally clicks that Will has somehow shrunk down to barely the length of Hannibal’s own hand. He is also completely naked; Hannibal is suddenly very much awake.</p>
<p>Hannibal finds a pocket-sized Will Graham hiding in his pot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rondeau

**Author's Note:**

  * For [haanigram](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haanigram/gifts).



> I mean, it's pocket!Will. Does this really need more of an explanation than that? They do the do for science.
> 
> Written as a result of MUCH DISCUSSION OF THE KINK on [haanigram's](hannigram.com) blog.

Hannibal returns home from a long day with barely the energy to eat. He suffered through a lengthy line of patients, all spouting the same predictable melodramas that could be easily fixed if they only followed Hannibal’s advice. After that, he drove to the Baltimore Opera House, for a patrons meeting that lasted twice as long as it was meant to because two members of the board, a _formerly_ married couple, decided to use the meeting on finances and the upcoming show to wage the battles of their divorce. It was three _long_ hours before Hannibal managed to convince the rest of the board to postpone the meeting for another day.

But, finally, he is home. He strides into his house, briefcase heavy with paperwork, planning to heat up some leftover stew from two nights prior. He doesn’t normally make extra foods, preferring to eat only fresh meals, but his dinner guest had cancelled.

He is surprised to find the light in his kitchen already switched on—odd, because he knows for a fact that he turned it off that morning after retrieving his car keys from their designated bowl beside the door. Even stranger, an unfamiliar stack of books is haphazardly laid across his island countertop. He quirks his head slightly, circling the counter slowly with his eyes glued to the book titles—nearly all battered copies of obscure titles regarding various types of bugs.

_They must be Will’s._ But he does not remember the man leaving them when he was last here. Perhaps he has come to visit without calling first? He is about to call out his friend and patient’s name when a sharp clash reverberates around the kitchen. He twists his head, not immediately sure where the sound originated. On the other side of the counter, he begins shifting papers, moving cutlery, raising the lids off of pans to find the source of the noise. He slides his fingers under the lid of the farthest pot and lifts it.

He immediately sets it back down again.

Then he looks down and sees the pile of clothes on the floor, a familiar pair of glasses on top. He lifts the lid to the pot again.

“Will?”

“Ah— _don’t—“_ Hannibal realizes that it is none other than Will Graham curled up in his copper rondeau pot. For a moment longer, Hannibal is concerned by how this is possible, how Will could fit in the pot, before his tired mind finally clicks that Will has somehow shrunk down to barely the length of Hannibal’s own hand. He is also completely naked; Hannibal is suddenly very much awake.

“I—I’m _sorry_ ,” Will says, nearly wailing into his hands. He keeps his face covered by his hands, tiny finger curling around his forehead and minuscule cheekbones, but his mortification is still more than apparent on the bared remainder of his body. Everything from his ears to his chest to the tips of his toes is bright red—a blush Hannibal has imagined but never seen firsthand.

“Well, Will,” Hannibal says, allowing his words to carry a sort of exasperated hue, to sound disappointedor _annoyed_ when he is anything but, to test if that shade of red can go any deeper. “How did this happen?”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Hannibal sees the upturned bottle of pills and realizes immediately what has occurred, but he would very much like to hear Will splutter out the story from the echoing interior of his favorite pot.

“I—I was just—I was hoping you would be home earlier—I brought wine—To apologize for missing dinner the other day—“ Hannibal glances again to the right, to see the unopened bottle of chardonnay sitting on the countertop. He doesn’t recognize the brand, but does not care to keep his attention away from the miniaturized Will for longer than a second to investigate it.

“But you were—you were _really_ late, and I had a headache and was tired of sitting in my car, so I let myself in using the key you gave me—“

The key had been given as an effort to push Will a bit further toward Hannibal’s bed. It had not immediately paid off, when Hannibal placed it into a slightly tipsy Will’s hand after dinner one night, but he had not really expected it to. It would take much more than a miniscule amount of trust to maneuver Will completely into his arms.

“And I saw the bottle on the counter and I—I thought it was _aspirin._ I don’t know why and I _know_ I should have read the bottle first because it probably damn _says_ what it is on the label—I’m _so sorry._ ”

That Will is more worried about Hannibal being angry with him than he is about the fact that his closest friend keeps such a strange medication laying around his kitchen says much about the man’s self-deprecating frame of mind. It’s a tragedy because, in reality, Hannibal should have kept this particular bottle of pills locked away in his safe. The medical technology is still classified and someone accidently taking the pill without thinking, as Will has, could very well expose the entire project. Hannibal is lucky this time, but he will have to be more careful in the future.

The irony is not lost on him that, despite his best efforts for the opposite, Will has still ended up in one of his pots. Still, he has no plans to eat Will, small or otherwise. But he does have other plans.

“And then I—I _shrunk_ and I fell on the counter, and all my clothes fell off, and I heard you coming and I was just so embarrassed…so I…I hid in this pot.”

_Poor boy never thought he would have to say something like that._

“I’m sorry,” Will says again. And Hannibal finally smiles.

“It is fine, Will. I am just glad you seem to be more or less alright. You may be the first test subject of this particular drug. I was unsure what would happen.”

“More or less alright,” Will says dryly. He would probably gesture to his size if he were not squatting for the sake of modesty.

“To be completely honest, William, anything could have happened. We are both very lucky that you have only become small. There is an anti-drug that I believe will put you back to normal just as quickly as you were changed.”

“Really?” Will’s face brightens. “ _Oh_ , that’s _great_ , can I take it now?”

Hannibal considers and makes a decision in the blink of an eye. He lies, “I, unfortunately, do not have it here. I will have to call a colleague in the morning and have him mail it to me from London.”

In reality, he has another bottle of pills, the same size and shape as those Will has just taken, tucked away in his office.

“Do you feel altogether normal, with the obvious exception?”

Will pauses, shifting slightly in his tight position. He rolls his neck. His posture must be paining him, as he must strain to look up at Hannibal. The doctor cannot bring himself to change his position—not when Will’s face pokes so sweetly out up above the rim. Hannibal has half a mind to put the lid back on the pot and keep Will naked and minute in his pot for days on end, entirely at his mercy.

“Yeah…I mean, nothing feels off. My headache is gone. What was that stuff?”

“A new drug called Hexocilium. It has not been announced to the public yet. Its main ingredient is a venom from a type of South American hornet. A pharmaceutical company—I’m afraid I cannot say which, the company is a bit secretive—is developing. I was recruited, about a month back, to study the affects it has on different sorts of subjects.”

“I have never, _ever_ heard of _anything_ like this, Hannibal.”

“No, you wouldn’t have. As I said, it is very new. I apologize for being unable to disclose to you any more than that.”

The pain in Will’s back becomes too much for him. He shuffles back to the side of the pot farthest from Hannibal and leans against it, drawing his knees a bit tighter to his chest. Hannibal makes his first move.

“I wonder, Will, if you would…” He pauses for affect, for long enough that Will raises his tiny eyebrows and grunts to get him to continue. “I wonder if you would allow me to inspect you. Those pills were sent for me for the sake of testing their use. If I inspect you now it will be one less test subject I must recruit.”

As expected, Will looks horrified at the prospect. He surely feels as vulnerable as he looks and is unlikely to give his consent unless prodded a bit more masterfully.

“Only if you are comfortable with it, of course,” Hannibal says gently. Then, a bit more firmly, “Though, those pills are testers and cost quite a bit of money to make. It was difficult for me to gain access to this project and I am unsure how kindly my colleagues Will respond to a missing tablet.”

Will drags his eyes away from Hannibal’s face and, in the absence of a shirt tail to fiddle with, draws tiny spirals on his knee with an untrimmed fingernail. Between his legs, a bit more spread now, Hannibal has a tiny glimpse of Will’s flaccid cock and testicles, hanging between his legs.

“Um…” Will murmurs. “Ok.”

“I am sorry, William, what was that?” Hannibal says, though he heard perfectly fine the first time.

“Yeah,” Will says, much more loudly. He sounds more confident, but his voice still cracks with anxiety. “Yeah, ok. You _are_ my doctor. I guess it’s ok if it’s you.”

Hannibal smiles down at him. “Wonderful. You have nothing to worry about, Will. I shall ensure any results are published anonymously and my initial notes destroyed.”

“Yeah. Good,” Will says, pretending that _other people_ hearing about this is the source of his concern. Hannibal dips his hand into the pot, which Will regards with confusion and no small amount of trepidation.

“I would prefer to conduct the examination in my study, Will.” His kitchen has already been dirtied enough via Will sitting naked in his pot.

“Could I—could you give me something to cover up with, please?”

“That is unnecessary, William. I will need you unclothed for the inspection.”

“O-ok…” Will says meekly, too embarrassed to push for a dishcloth or even a piece of tissue. The tiny man steps shakily up onto Hannibal’s index and middle finger, then stumbles to his palm. At full height, Hannibal can see that Will is about six inches tall. He could hold the poor boy in one hand, but he uses two, just in case. He moves toward the doorway of the kitchen.

“So what…what exactly is the point of this drug?” Will asks as they move through the halls. He still has his hands cupped in front of his crotch, but all in good time. In the meantime, Hannibal has an excellent view of the curve of Will’s ass.

“As of now, in the raw, it would have little use. The hope is that it can be refined and applied to certain areas of the human body. A cancerous tumor shrunk down to an eighth of its size would be much easier—and much safer—to remove.”

In his study, Hannibal plans to place Will gently on the desk. But a few strides away, he has a stroke of inspiration and allows himself to drag his feet on the carpeting. The stunted movement barely upends his own balance, but Will falls backward, flat on his back across Hannibal’s palms. Hannibal, for the first time, has an unobstructed view of Will’s petite bared body.

“Apologies, William,” he says, and he sets Will down on the mahogany desk. Unlike his office, his study has little art. It is dimly lit and sound barely carries. It is not a good place for a medical inspection, but for a seduction it will more than suffice. He leaves briefly to retrieve some tools from other rooms in the house and when he returns he finds Will shivering, curling into himself.

“Are you cold?”

“A—a little, yeah.” _We will see what is to be done about that._

“I think we should start with some simple tests,” Hannibal says, opening up a nearby notepad. “Stand and raise your arms above your head, please.”

Will is quick to obey, obviously wanting to get this over with quickly. As the man moves, his tiny cock sways. It is difficult to make an estimation, but, full sized, he must be between four and five inches long. Not large to begin with.

Hannibal leads Will through a sequence of motions, has him move about on the desk, jump into the air and do a couple push ups, just to watch the way Will moves. Then, he presses a finger lightly to the man’s chest, to feel the sway of it. Taking a pulse is nearly impossible with Will so small, but he somehow manages, finding everything to be normal. Will does not question, simply does. Hannibal sincerely hopes such an attitude will persist.

“I will need to take your temperature now, William.” The man nods, entirely unaware. Turning, he withdraws the smallest of his meat thermometers. It is the only electronic one he owns and it is a mere two inches in length—it will no doubt still be incredibly daunting to Will.

“Oh god,” Will says. “Don’t tell me—“

“I am afraid so, Will. I regrettably do not own a mouth thermometer small enough for this situation. Furthermore, this thermometer will give a more precise reading.”

Will opens his mouth, possibly to reject the examination altogether, but something stops him. Judging by the scrunching of his eyebrows, it is guilt.

Hannibal slathers a small amount of lubricant on the end of the thermometer (he will likely use less than half an inch of it) and motions to Will to turn around. Will, eager to hide his blush, does so quickly, even jutting his tiny ass out a little toward Hannibal.

He feels a bit of blood rushing downward at the sight.

“On your hands and knees, Will, if you would be so kind.” Once he obeys, Hannibal says, “This may sting a bit at first, as you are unused to such an intrusion. Try to relax as much as possible for it.”

As Hannibal expects, the telltale twitch in Will’s spine reveals that he has attempted anal stimulation in the past—whether by himself or with a partner, Hannibal is unsure. After Will seems as relaxed as possible given the conditions, he reaches forward with one hand and presses lightly on each of Will’s buttocks. Ever so gently, he spreads them, revealing the deliciously puckered opening that is Will’s hole.

The end must still be too cold (or maybe Will really does have a fever) because when Hannibal presses it between his cheeks the man jerks forward with a gasp.  
“Is everything alright?” Hannibal asks.

“ _Fine_ ,” Will chokes out. “Sorry, it’s fine.”

With further consent, Hannibal adds a bit of pressure to the implement and the thin point of it slides in, making way for the thicker part behind. Will groans, a pained sound that almost makes Hannibal pity him. He will have to make it up to him, somehow.

Keeping this thought in mind, Hannibal begins to gently circle the tip of the thermometer so that it scrapes every contour of Will’s insides.

“Ah—don’t—“ Will groans, trying to crawl away to dislodge it.

“It must be firmly settled,” Hannibal insists. Another lie, among many. He tightens his grip slightly, not enough to keep Will captive, just enough to warn him. He alters the movements a bit, thrusting the tip in and out and moving it side to side, just to see how Will’s hole gapes as it stretches from the abuse.

After far too much effort, Hannibal finds what he is looking for—Will nearly sobs at the contact. Will’s prostate is enflamed and soft, Hannibal can tell, even through the metal implement. After a few forceful prods against the spot, Will has had enough, trying to jerk free of the hold.

“ _Ah-ah_ ,” Hannibal chides. “Please, William. This is important. Do you find you are more responsive to prostate stimulation now?”

“I’m not—I don’t usually…try it…” The response isn’t altogether honest, but Hannibal does not push him. Instead, he circles his finger around Will and rubs at his growing erection. “I—I _nngh,_ Hannibal, I can’t—“

“Shh… William,” Hannibal hushes him. “It is fine.”

He manipulates Will’s body into his hand once more, to feel how every muscle in him shakes and shudders with pleasure. Will rolls onto his back, knees quickly drawing to his chest, a lip drawn in between his teeth to help him keep quiet.

“You need not hold back, William,” Hannibal whispers. He leans in so that, when he speaks again, his breath fans out across Will’s skin. “Move so that it feels good.”

“B-but—“ Hannibal cuts off his protests by curling his index finger a bit tighter around Will’s erection. He groans in response, crying out, “ _Hannibal!”_

After that, Will truly loses himself, letting each of his little moans and whimpers be heard as he rolls his hips against the pad of Hannibal’s fingers. Hannibal wishes, briefly, that he had other sorts of small utensils nearby, to prod at Will’s puckered anus. _The handle of a teaspoon, perhaps._ Cold, hard silver, pushing in and out, Will sighing as he humps the palm of Hannibal’s hand, nearly in tears all the while. For now, the crass needle of the thermometer would have to do.

The thought is quickly abandoned for another time, as Will’s movements begin to grow jerkier, with more abandon. He brings his hands up above his head and his breaths grow ragged—the flush of his cheeks resembles ripened cherry tomatoes more than anything. Hannibal tries to help him along, pressing the thermometer a bit deeper just to thrust it harder against Will’s prostate, rubbing his finger a bit more erratically. But, in the end, it is Will’s own efforts that send him over the edge. With his arms extended far above his head, and his back arched _so_ beautifully, Will thrusts himself down against the intrusion.

He sobs out his orgasm, coming on his chest and on Hannibal’s fingertips. It goes on for ages and Hannibal feels every tiny movement upon the palm of his hand.

“H- _Hannibal!_ ” He cries, eyes squeezed shut and sweaty hair completely askew. His toes curl and his fingers knot themselves into tiny fists. 

Under his breath, Hannibal says, “Sweet boy.” He speaks loudly enough that Will certainly will hear, but will question its existence due to the haze of pleasure.

With quiet patience, he waits for Will to drift back into himself. He happens to glance at the electronic thermometer in his hand and sees that Will’s temperature is a healthy 37°C. He records the number in his notebook.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the height of my size kink. (ba-dum tssss)
> 
> luvkurai.tumblr.com


End file.
